There she was—
the only woman in a room of men.
She sat on the side
and looked around gently
as she taped her hands.

I tried not to look at her too often,
but she truly was
a rare sight, a relic of sorts.

She stole so many of my glances,
I couldn't help but feel guilty,
and only hoped I was
the only man in the room
from whom she took control.

Then it started.
And as we were forming pairs,
nobody picked her.
Nobody wanted to be
either the wolf who feasts
or the wolf who hurts.

And I wonder if she will ever understand
that it wasn't that she wasn't
good enough for us,
but that she was too good.